


The Memoirs of Mr. S—, Servant to Colonel S— of the Q—‘s R—s, during the Late American War and Beyond,  Recorded by the same in retrospective dictation

by Reinette_de_la_Saintonge



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Original Work
Genre: 18th Century, American Revolution, British Military, Carrots, Fun, Gen, Georgian Period, Historical, Historical Accuracy, Historical Spelling, Horses, Humor, Military, Military Uniforms, Pets, Post-War, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reinette_de_la_Saintonge/pseuds/Reinette_de_la_Saintonge
Summary: The long-forgotten autobiographical Memoir of General Simcoe's moſt truſted servant, for the firſt time revealed to the Publick.





	The Memoirs of Mr. S—, Servant to Colonel S— of the Q—‘s R—s, during the Late American War and Beyond,  Recorded by the same in retrospective dictation

**The Memoirs of Mr. S—, Servant to Colonel S— of the Q—‘s R—s, during the Late American War and Beyond,**

**Recorded by the same in retrospective dictation**

Printed for the Author London MDCCCI, reprinted with permiſsion of Miſs E. S—, daughter of the aforementioned, by Miſs F.—A. de L—, MMXIX.

 

 **I** t was the year of 1778 that I first came into my maſter’s service under the most unfortunate and melancholy circumstances that did not bode well for my own fate, my predecessor having expired under the onslaught of hostile musket fire.

And yet, I happily followed my new master, for he was good and kind always. A man of Sense, Patience and many good Virtues that mark a true gentleman, the General, then still a young captain during the Late War in America, had just been released from enemy Captivity in a prisoner exchange when he took me in, and made me his faithful, most trusted servant.

In me, he confided things he would not even confide into the woman he married; Doubts of many kind, Regret, the Loſs of a Love, a woman who had governed his Affections and his Heart, but had broken it in twain; in my silence, he knew he could trust always.

So hardy and brave an officer was he as has ever lived, a paragon of virtues whose dedication to do Good was excelled by none; the bloody trade of the soldier he eschewed whenever he could, and was not on the battlefield, and only on one occasion it is said that he broke his maxim, that was never to do ill to a person when it could be avoided, be he a Rebel or loyal subject.

There was many a narrow escape from the foe, and both of us sustained injuries, his worse than mine, on several occasions; but he being so brave and hardy an officer, he was not deterr’d by personal injury, and even expreſs’d his compassion to me when he noted a new scratch or scar on me, and I did my best to match him in his compaſsion whenever I noted he was unwell, which was rather often, sometimes from his wounds, at others from his various illneſses, unfortunate products of his frail nature.

And still he would fight on, until one day, he fell very ill- sick he was, and so feveriſh his body burned when he relied on my help to get to his men in the field, using me quite badly for he could barely stand and presented more the weight of a wet sack of grain than that of a person, but my strength was enough for us both and I took good care he would not fall.

It was during the unfortunate Siege at Yorktown in October of ’81, when the Dire Position of our forces would have gravely needed a man so capable and fearleſs as the Colonel, that he, plagu’d by the ill effects of war both on his physical health and his mind took to bed, feverish and sweating, and full of dark thoughts of his own perishing and the Fate of the Army, most particularly his Men of the Q—‘s R—s rgt.

With me, he went to see his men despite knowing he was too weak to fight himself, but could not be deterr’d by anyone, be it his second-in-command, his servant and many others from heading out to his men, who were about to go into the field without him.

Unhealthily pale with glewing cheeks and forehead, this image amplified by his dark mane standing at all angles, he gave them a rousing speech during which murmuring voices commended him for his bravery but noted with concern that he was close to falling off the saddle, so frail seemed he. The Colonel praised their valour and bravery before Colonel T—, who had taken charge of his men in his absence, told him he was a fool to head out to the field in such a weak state, and that he better exchange his regimentals for the covers of his cot, where he could recuperate and await the news from the field, which would no doubt be pleasant ones of Foes Defeated. He would take good care of his men, he could be assured of that.

And with that, I was order’d to take him back, where he was lain down immediately as his fever had risen from the ardour of his foolish expedition.

 

***

 **A** fter that horrid night, during which I had carried him with greatest care until he was taken from me by a doctor and his aides to be laid in a cot in the sick bay, I did not see him again, not for many years- at first, I did not understand and frantically demanded to know where he was, for he was gone without any notice, what I would do now, the War soon having been over and my Master’s, our, side having lost, but was only placated with empty words and gestures and at last sent to stay with a man called McG— in New York, who had served under my master as captain in the Q—‘s R—s and saw it as only right and just to provide me with a home.

For long months, I asked myself where he had gone, why he had deserted me, left these shores without me when I had never given him reason to find fault with my work or myself but learned from fragments of converſations carried out either in or near my Quarters, that his sickness had made it paramount he be shipped back to England to regain his strength, or else he might have periſhed. He had been rushed to a ship sailing for New York along with other critically ill or injured officers from the Siege of Yorktown, and then been brought back to England, where we would some three years later meet again.

Captain McG— was a kind man who took good care of me and saw it as his duty to provide for an “old servant” of the master we had both served and frequently spent time with me to see if I was well, talk a little and assure himself of my friendship by bringing victuals, most frequently apples that were very good.

It happened then in the year of 1783 that Mr McG—, still of New York, received letters from the Colonel aſking for my whereabouts. I was naturally ‘found’ rather quickly and the Colonel inform’d I was alive and well.

Sometime later, a reply arriv’d saying he was much pleased to hear I was well, and delighted he had found me.

I was equally delighted to hear he was well, too, and had in the mean-time traded his solitary life for the companionship of a lady, whom Mr McG—said he loved very well and bore his first child.

Preparations soon enſued that I would, given the guard of one of the Colonel’s men, a private by the name of T—, go to England to be reunited with the Colonel, as such was his greatest wiſh.

Never had I been to the native country of my Master, having been born and bred on American soil, and was quite nervous when they tried to perſuade me go up the gangway into the deep, dark bowels of a ship that cannot look inviting to any living creature valuing the calmness of a sky above and solid ground below them, dark and reeking horribly, and rocking about in sickening motions that had me frightened for my safety and fearing I might die at sea.

Mr T— diligently assured himself of my well-being and prepared me for our landing in England; the hours he paſsed with me were the only rays of light in the perpetual twilight under deck and diverted me at least momentarily from the horrible knowledge I could not move much, uſe my numb legs in the way I was accustomed to and the dreadful idea settling in my mind that I might simply die on the spot and never stand on firm ground again.

Luckily, the horrors ended, and when in Liverpool we went from board I suffered a momentary confusion for the ground I stood on was indeed as firm as I had wished for, but my legs could not yet believe what in my head I was rejoicing about and took some time adjusting to the new, old circumstances.

That night we remained in Liverpool, but soon proceeded on our journey south, on which I for the first time saw the beauty of England, the richness of her green meadows and the foreign smell of her woodland flowers, all of which was new and wondrous to me, and so my journey with Mr T— paſs’d in no time, and then we were arriv’d in the County of Devon, where my old master now resided.

He was waiting when we came into the yard of his new home, a lady following close behind him and when he passed a bundle wrapp’d in a blanket to her, I understood her to be his wife, and the bundle his little one.

Without hesitation he headed towards me, briskly acknowledging Mr T— as he went, and exclaimed: “My dear Salem, how good it is to see you!” and showered me in praises of my services to him and to his wife and T— pointed out some of my scars, detailing where I got them and how brave I had been suffering a wound without complaining before I was invited to a very good supper of large carrots.

His wife, holding the little one she was hesitant to let me touch, tho’ I was immediately fond of the bundle as the babe was my master’s progeny and I thus understood it as my duty to love and protect the child as I had him, reached out to me and smiled also.

 

***

 **T** hus we were reunited; all is well, and I am the happiest I could ever be. No more do the fierce alarums of War demand my service in the field, no more do I riſk my life on dangerous expeditions; life has grown quiet, and the balmy Devonian air I breathe is devoid of the ſmells of gunpowder, smoke and blood.

My master’s lands have green meadows aplenty and I am happy.

The tiny bundle has grown into a little girl resembling her Mama greatly, but by the way she smiles at her father, it is evident she shares as much with him as she does with her mother, only that it cannot be seen with the bare eye.

She has siblings now, but being the eldeſt and the others still too young for it, her father will sometimes lift her on my back and instruct her to hold on to my mane while he leads me a few yards, and she giggles with delight every time.

The ringing sound of childish laughter and the tiny hands sometimes pulling too hard on my mane are quickly forgiven when she proffers a carrot, or her father is pleas’d with me for being so gentle with the little one and letting her pet me patiently as he holds her up by resting her weight on his hip so she can reach me.

These are petty inconveniences compared to the horrors of War.

Sometimes, she will trace a scar in my coat and ask her father who was so wicked to me, and he then explains how he rode me to Battle many times, and how I was braver and truſtier than most of his men.

“Oh”, the little sprite, ignorant of the bad things in the world then answers, “but now he is with us, and he is happy. Aren’t you, Salem?”

I am afraid I cannot answer her, but I am- the happiest horse in the length and breadth of the kingdom.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little light-hearted story! If you did, please leave me a comment or a kudos and if you didn't constructive criticism is always appreciated!
> 
> Salem existed- he mightn't have written his memoir, but his story is not much different from the dramatised version presented to you here:
> 
> "A horse! A horse! my kingdom for a horse!" exclaimed Richard III according to Shakespeare when he was unhorsed and killed at Bosworth. 394 years later, the Colonel of the Queen's Rangers, coincidentally born in 1752 only a stone's throw away from Fotheringhay Castle where Cecily of York gave birth to her infamous youngest son in 1452, had to dread a similar fate as England's most controversial king: unhorsed in a rebel ambush (his horse was fatally wounded), he hit the ground and was knocked out cold only to slowly come to to the voices of his captors debating whether to kill him or not- to his luck, it was decided to take him captive instead of sending him to meet his Maker.  
> After a few months of captivity, he was released and re-joined the Queen's Rangers.  
> It must have been then he, horseless since the ambush, must have gotten Salem as a replacement. Simcoe proceeded to grow very fond of the stallion but had to leave him behind in the autumn/early winter of 1781 when he fell gravely ill and was invalided back to England.  
> In England, Simcoe convalesced in the house of his godfather, where he made the acquaintance of his godfather's wife's ward, Elizabeth Posthuma Gwillim. The two fell in love and were married by December 1782 (those of you who read "The Colonel's Portrait" already know :) ). Around the time his wife got pregnant with their first child, Simcoe was in contact with the Queen's Rangers' quartermaster Captain McGill (still in New York), asking what happened to his horse.  
> It turned out McGill had taken care of Salem and the horse was well. The overjoyed owner then wanted him back- but added a clause to his reply letter that might not match well with modern ethics and sensibilities but was very much in tune with contemporary notions of soldierly honour: should it not be possible to get Salem to England, he wanted a horse-sized grave dug, Salem dressed up in all his trappings and then have him shot and buried with military honours so as to spare him the heinous abasement of ever having to carry "the American Chiefs, the miscreants of the Earth" (did he really think George Washington and co. would have wanted his horse over all others in America?) on his back.  
> Luckily, McGill found ways and means to have Salem sent to England. Simcoe provided a whopping £40 for Salem's journey; an incredible amount of money for a horse, as he himself noted: "I allotted £40 the latter [sending Salem to England instead of having him shot] was effected to my joy. He is not worth 10 — but I love an old servant."  
> The "old servant" set sail aboard the ship "Nancy" on 15th July 1783 in the care of a man named Thomas, possibly a Ranger who needed a cheap way back home. From Liverpool, Thomas rode Salem south to Devon, where an overjoyed Simcoe doted on his old companion.  
> I have to admit, here I tweaked history a bit: when Salem arrived in England in the late summer/early autumn of 1783, baby Eliza wouldn't have been born yet- the Simcoes' firstborn was born on 24th January 1784.  
> When Simcoe was named Lieutenant Governor of Upper Canada, he needed a horse there, too, but Salem was too old to accompany him. Elizabeth Simcoe noted in a letter to a friend how worried her husband was about his beloved horse, whom he eventually, and very likely with a heavy heart, left with a woman in Exeter who was tasked to take good care of him.  
> It is there I lost trace of Salem; very likely he was pretty old by then already and died sometime in the 1790s, possibly while Simcoe was in Canada. I read somewhere, though I am still trying to remember where, that Salem was not only a companion to his old master, but the ever-increasing brood of Simcoe-children, too and would pull a little sleigh for the kids in winter.  
> Thus ends the story of Salem, "old servant", war horse and childhood companion. I hope you found this glimpse into a very different aspect of Revolutionary War fiction interesting- in any case, thank you for reading.


End file.
